


it's a wrap

by youcouldmakealife



Series: it's a setup [30]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, YCMAL 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27388942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Hmm,” Joey says. “I think we were kind of late to the party here.”“Some later than others,” Scratch says.“You do not get to be smug about being just slightly earlier to the party than me,” Joey says.“Yes I do,” Scratch says. “Absolutely I do.”
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Series: it's a setup [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669567
Comments: 36
Kudos: 404





	it's a wrap

After a pretty killer post-sex nap and some semi-healthy dinner curled up in front of the TV — Joey can’t do junk food twice in a day, not even for Scratch — it’s time for what has become an awful annual tradition: The Shaving of the Playoff Beard.

There is probably no bigger breach of decorum than showing up to media day after you’ve been knocked out of the playoffs with a beard still on your face. Joey’s just speculating on that, though, because it’s never been done. Well, it has been with dudes who were bearded in the first place, but they’ll trim that shit right back to pre-playoff level. 

Which means they’ve got a pretty looming deadline to shave. Joey can’t say he’s sorry to see the back of his own pitiful beard. His feelings about Scratch’s beard are more mixed.

They split up to shave in their respective apartments. For one, there isn’t room to do it in tandem, and Scratch would have to get his own razor anyway, and for another, Joey needs it to be a bit of a ritual, doing it alone, dealing with his disappointment all by himself. He doesn’t know if Scratch feels the same or not. He does know that Scratch knows Joey needs it, and that he respects that whether or not he feels the same way.

Joey looks down at his phone, doesn’t know who to send _do you ever feel so much love for someone you think you’ll explode from it?_. It’d be rude to send to Casey. Newly Non-Playoff Willy is very off limits. Parents are weird. He doesn’t want a yes _or_ no from them for that question. Unless it’s about how cute him and Casey were as babies, he guesses.

He sends it to Owen, who responds almost immediately with, _Did you?????????_

Then, clearly smart enough to figure it out on his own, _You did!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_we did_ , Joey texts, and finds him smiling at himself in the mirror. He keeps smiling through the beard trimming, then attempts to adopt a more suitably grim face for the actual shaving off part. Shaving away his facial hair like the Senators shaved away the Scouts’ hopes and dreams. This is a metaphorical moment. Joey needs to take it more seriously.

He has a text saying _I’m so happy for you!!!!!_ waiting for him when he checks his phone halfway through.

_I’m pretty happy for me too_ , Joey says. _minus the whole everything else_.

_I get it._ Owen says. _I’m still really sad about it. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. I’m so sorry._

“Going with the half beard, interesting choice,” Scratch says from the doorway. He’s back to clean shaven, and while Joey kind of misses the beard already, no beard suits him too. A man with cheekbones that sharp can pull off anything.

“Keep the media on their toes,” Joey says.

_But Scratch!!!!!!_ Owen texts.

Joey grins down at it.

“I’m gossiping about you with Owen,” Joey informs him. “He’s used more exclamation marks in the past five minutes than he has in the rest of the time I’ve known him.”

He puts his phone down, picks up his razor, because the half beard is horrific. Not even messing with the media would let Joey leave the house with it.

“So is now the right time to tell you I’m ninety percent sure him and Willy banged at some point?” Scratch says.

Joey drops the razor, narrowly missing his foot.

“I guess that’s a no?” Scratch says.

_DID YOU BANG WILLY??????_ Joey texts.

“Want me to do the other half of your face?” Scratch asks. “Since you’re slow as hell?”

“I’m waiting for an answer!” Joey says. “Your ninety percent surety is not evidence.”

“Hold still,” Scratch says, and Joey impatiently waits. Scratch is almost finished by the time his phone finally buzzes. Owen probably spent that whole time staring at his phone, going ‘what the hell prompted _that_ , Munroe?’

“Wait your turn, Owen,” Scratch mutters, and continues, and Joey waits even more impatiently until Scratch deems him acceptable.

_No._ Owen says, which Joey would rub Scratch’s nose in, except that it’s followed up by _It’s complicated._

Complicated is bad. And Owen is an angel so this must be Willy’s fault. If Joey were a betting man he’d put his money on it being Playoff Willy’s fault.

_do you need me to threaten Willy?_ , Joey texts back.

“Deets,” Scratch says, then tucks his chin over Joey’s shoulder. That can’t be good for his back.

“This is secret BFF stuff,” Joey says.

Scratch pulls away and gives him a deeply hurt face.

“You get Trigger then I get Owen,” Joey says. “You have to be nice to him now too. I’m nice to Trigger.”

“You’re friends with Trigger,” Scratch says.

“I’m nice to Trigger,” Joey repeats.

“Fine, I’ll be nice to Owen,” Scratch says.

“Much appreciated,” Joey says, then goes back to his phone as it buzzes.

_Please don’t._ Owen says.

So Owen clearly wants him to threaten Willy, then.

“We gotta threaten Willy tomorrow,” Joey says.

“Oh it’s we now,” Scratch says. “Not secret BFF stuff anyone?”

“We’re a team, Scratch,” Joey says. “An alliance. A united front. A coalition. An unstoppable duo.”

Scratch kisses the top of his head. It’s meant to be condescending, Joey thinks.

“Those are really pretentious ways of saying ‘a couple’, Money,” Scratch murmurs. 

Definitely meant to be condescending then.

Joey tilts his head back to scowl at Scratch, and the scowl deepens when Scratch takes the opportunity to kiss his nose.

“Aftershave time,” Scratch says.

Oh yeah. Probably best not to face the media looking like an overgrown teenager. Joey’s skin is stupid and temperamental.

Twenty minutes later Joey’s fresh faced and comfortably leaning into Scratch on the couch while Scratch replies to the people he hasn’t gotten around to yet and and Joey tries and fails to pester Owen for information. He’s being very close mouthed. All ‘it’s personal’ and ‘this is between me and Tate, Joey’ and ‘Please don’t talk to him about this’. 

“We’re gonna threaten Willy so much tomorrow,” Joey informs Scratch.

“Okay, Money,” Scratch says.

“We’re going to make the media look soft, we’ll be so mean,” Joey says.

“Bridge too far, Money,” Scratch says. “Bridge too far.”

Joey hums disagreement.

“I don’t want to talk to the media,” Joey says.

“Me either,” Scratch says. Not that either of them are going to have to deal with even close to as much media as say, Willy or Shithead or Trigger. Maybe Scratch is right. Willy’s going to have a really fucking bad day tomorrow. Not that it means Joey won’t threaten him, but he’ll be moderate about it. “My parents want to have dinner before they fly out.”

“Yeah?” Joey asks. 

“You’re invited,” Scratch says.

“As Money or like,” Joey says.

“As Money,” Scratch says. “But if you want to be invited as not-Money that’s cool. Got to tell them eventually.”

“Yeah,” Joey says. “Cool, tell Irene and Big Nick I’m in.”

Scratch gives him a thumbs up.

“Case’s probably already told the parental units,” Joey says. “And now they’re just going to pretend to be really surprised when I tell them. Apparently my dad thought we went to your sister’s wedding as a couple?”

“Your dad is not the only one who had that impression,” Scratch says.

“Hmm,” Joey says. “I think we were kind of late to the party here.”

“Some later than others,” Scratch says.

“You do not get to be smug about being just slightly earlier to the party than me,” Joey says.

“Yes I do,” Scratch says. “Absolutely I do.”

“I was fashionably late,” Joey says.

“You got there after the party was over, Money,” Scratch says.

“I got there when I needed to be there,” Joey says, and kisses Scratch’s shoulder, Scratch scrubbing a hand through Joey’s hair in response.

*

Joey wakes up too hot again, and also slightly numb in places Scratch is overlapping him with his gigantic body. Joey should obviously have the lying on top of someone rights, not Scratch. He informs Scratch of that fact once he pokes him awake, and gets facewashed in answer, which is rude. Scratch is rude.

“Suck my dick,” Scratch says, and rolls out of bed. Joey watches him retreat to the bathroom with some interest. 

“Nice ass!” Joey says. 

“Thanks Money!” Scratch calls back. “I worked really hard for it!”

Joey snorts and goes to make coffee while he waits for his turn in the bathroom.

Scratch brought what he called a ‘sleepover’ bag with toiletries, a change of clothes, looking kind of shy and uncertain when he said it, like Joey was going to kick him out or something, but he didn’t bring a suit up, so he disappears downstairs after they have a lazy breakfast of protein bars and coffee, and Joey gets ready on his own, feeling sort of weird about it. It shouldn’t feel weird, it’s his usual routine, but, well. Things have changed, Joey guesses.

They got a day to hide. A day to just — exist in Joey’s apartment and eat crappy food and cuddle and make fun of each other and curl up in bed together and make each other come, which was like — half brand new, half very much routine. Joey doesn’t know what’s going to happen now, with Scratch heading back to Toronto to train with his GTA bros, and Joey hitting up Cleveland to train with his Midwest bros and a few of the Barons who stick around, a five hour drive and a border and a big ass lake between them, months focusing on getting back into game shape in a shortened offseason before they run headlong into the season all over again, try to fucking win it this time.

He doesn’t know, and they’re going to have to talk about it, figure it out, their summer plans and what they’re going to tell Big Nick and Irene at dinner, and what they’re going to tell Joey’s parents, and whether they’re going to tell their teammates, and if so whether they’re just going to tell Willy and Trigger or let the whole roster know, and — 

But before they figure any of that out, they’ve got to clean out their lockers, talk to the media. Joey is not looking forward to it. It’s never a fun day, but it’s extra painful when you were that close to Stanley. Especially the second time.

Joey’s satisfied with his tie on the third try, satisfied with his hair never, but it’s the best he can do. Ready as he can be for a day of torture, all their failures brought up, all the ways they fell short examined, another season they didn’t bring the Cup to Kansas City. He turns on the news, turns it off after a second, because he can’t focus on it, reads it instead, not really absorbing it either, just sort of in neutral gear, waiting for Scratch to come up.

Scratch looks extra spiffy today. Not his best suit — Joey suspects it is waiting to be burned — but a nice one, his hair as closest to tamed as he can get it. 

“Looking good,” Joey tells him.

“You too,” Scratch says, then sits down beside him, probably messes up both of their suits by half collapsing into Joey. “How long til we absolutely have to leave or we’ll be late?”

Joey looks at his phone. “Seven minutes,” he estimates. 

“Okay,” Scratch says. “Wanna procrastinate for five of those?”

“Absolutely,” Joey says. “I’ll set a timer.”

Scratch snorts, then snorts louder when Joey does it.

“Blah,” Joey says.

“Blah,” Scratch agrees, and then they sit in companionable silence.

“No,” Joey whines when the timer goes off. “Boo. I don’t wanna.”

“Me either,” Scratch whines back.

“But we gotta,” Joey says.

Scratch nods. “We gotta.”

“Are you going to get up first or me?” Joey says.

Scratch shrugs.

“Somebody’s gotta get up first,” Joey says. “I vote you. Up you get.”

Scratch gets up with a dramatic groan Joey feels all the way into his soul, then offers Joey a hand to help him up.

“Don’t think I don’t notice that you’re limping,” Scratch says as Joey follows him to the front hall. 

“I’ll get it checked out,” Joey says.

“You better,” Scratch says.

Joey grabs the shoes that are a little too loose — well, usually, right now with his stupid ankle at least they’re not too tight — double checks himself in the mirror. He looks about as good as he’s going to get. Dressing well for the gauntlet.

“Ready to go?” Joey says.

“Grudgingly,” Scratch says, which seems like a good choice of words. Sums it up well.

“Good luck kiss?” Joey asks, angling his head up. Scratch kisses his forehead, which gives Joey that chaste but weirdly electric feeling again, but was not the kiss he was angling for.

“Can’t get on my tiptoes, my ankle hurts,” Joey informs him, and smiles against Scratch’s mouth when Scratch leans down the rest of the way to kiss him.


End file.
